The Mystery Boys and Captain Kidd's Message

by Van Powell

  CHAPTER XXVII IN THE ENEMY’S HANDS

  It was not the bullet from Nicky’s pistol that did damage—it missed themoccasin by a good foot; but the sound, pounding through the stillmorning air, warned and wakened the hi-jackers.

  Nicky did not dare risk a run past the snake which, in spite of thepistol shot, had not moved, except to lift its head angrily.

  From the position by the boats Mr. Neale and Brownie heard thereverberating thud of the exploding powder. “He’s in trouble,” said Mr.Neale. “But he isn’t calling for help!” answered Brownie. They listened,but no further sound came. “Guess he got it,” said Brownie.

  But then their ears were assailed by a triple succession of sharpexplosions. This time it was the summons, without chance of mistake!

  Breaking through the tangle, heedless of cuts and scratches, the sailorand the young collector of relics fought their way along the fainttrail.

  Nicky had aimed the pistol at the snake, even as he pressed the triggerin the call for aid; but his hand shook so that he made no effect on thereptile which, alarmed by the sound, slipped in a long, sinuous curve tothe trunk of the tree. Nicky drew a long breath. But at the same instantthat he heard the crash of bodies in the trail, he heard, behind him,feet thudding up from the waterside.

  Turning, he lifted the pistol desperately in the faces of the two Ortigabrothers; but they were too close. As one knocked the weapon high in theair it exploded its fifth cartridge.

  At the sound the men on the path beyond sight of Nicky gave a hail; atthe same instant stout, powerful arms closed around Nicky, his openedlips were rudely smothered in a coarse hand and he felt himself,struggling, kicking, trying to bite, propelled toward the water.

  “Fling him in and let’s get away!” cried Don Ortiga.

  “No,” panted his brother, with a wicked word as Nicky teeth closed onhis flesh and he snatched his hand free. “Make him a hostage! Hold him.Here—ahoy, the ship! Give a hand!”

  Nicky tore and fought but against two powerful men. His fourteen years,his athletic prowess, were little help to him. His strength was in noway equal to theirs. From the _Libertad_ came excited voices.

  From the trail broke cries and the sound of Brownie’s automatic barkingas he caught sight of the men; but Mr. Neale stayed his hand, catching aview of Nicky in the group.

  Before they could get there and intervene, Nicky had been flung towilling hands, had been thrust back into the cabin, an engineer wasrocking the flywheel of _El Libertad_, her motor took hold with a roarand a tremble of the hull, Don Ortiga and his brother had thrownthemselves onto the bow deck, clinging to the rail, and then scramblingdown out of range, and, backing down stream, _El Libertad_ was beyondthe leap of Brownie which fell short and sent him plunging down onto thecoral bottom.

  Mr. Neale shouted to Nicky; he was helpless, having no weapon. Nickycould not answer; he was surrounded, his mouth was being tied securelywith a handkerchief rudely thrust between his lips.

  _El Libertad_ backed slowly but surely down the stream.

  From the bank Brownie, sputtering and soaked, hailed.

  “_Libertad_—ahoy!” he cried. “Stop or we’ll sink you!”

  “With what—your fat?” cried a lusty sailor with a roar of laughter. “Ifyou shoot you’ll hit your boy—see, here he is!”

  Screening behind Nicky, whose bound form they lifted into view, the evilsailors sent a defiant guffaw back to the men on the bank.

  “Get the rockets!” panted Mr. Neale, tearing back along the trail, “thecutter won’t know what’s happened. Send up rockets!”

  Brownie dashed back with him, and while Mr. Neale was fumbling to setthe rockets, and dropping a packet of matches into the water in hishelpless eagerness, Brownie was tugging at the light dory with all hisstrength, trying to shove it over the rimrock into the shoals at thehead of the Shark; his idea was to row down after the vessel and so tobe on hand if any help could be rendered. Mr. Neale had to ask formatches; but finally the fuses hissed and rockets roared up from theheavy roots into which their sticks had been thrust, to break into puffsof white, heavy smoke—the warning of attack!

  On the _Libertad_ a hasty conference was held. Nicky was not invited toattend the conferees, but was bound quickly and thrown unceremoniouslyinto a corner of the cabin floor, to await their further need for hisprotecting body.

  Whispers, gruff laughs, sharp negatives to suggested action, were allthat Nicky could catch. Finally, however, he heard Don Ortiga order theengineer to put on full speed astern, and back went the white boat downthe Shark, a man at her stem to call the channel to the tillerman.

  “We’ll use him as a blind, say he’s been hurt and we want to deliver himup,” Nicky overheard a man confide to the engineer who was necessarilyabsent from the conference. “That will hold their fire.”

  “Whose fire?” asked the engineer, wiping gasoline from the lower edge ofthe carbureter, which seemed to be leaking.

  “The cutter must be laying outside,” the sailor declared. “One man onthe shore was in uniform. They must have tried to surround us. Lucky forus, the lad fell into our hands!”

  “Yes,” said the engineer coarsely laughing. “If they offer to hurt us wecan shoot him—or whatever we like!”

  At the head of the Shark River Mr. Neale was helping with the dory; itskeel grated and rubbed, offering resistance. They lifted and bumped italong until it seemed safe to leap in; but the added weight plumped itdown onto the coral again and they had to tumble out and push once more.Then Mr. Neale leaped in, Brownie gave a shove and fell onto the sternon his chest, and clambered aboard. They caught the oars and gave waywith insane eagerness.

  On the _Libertad_ Nicky lay in his corner.

  “Let us go—if they don’t—we’ve got him——”

  “Sort of tight corner,” Nicky said to himself, and with all the cunningat his command he kept his face impassive to the chance sight of apassing sailor while, under him, cramped as they were, he tuggedfiercely at the hurriedly made knots, his jaws aching from the wedge ofsoiled linen crushed between his teeth, his body bent toward oneend—liberation!